Silent Warrior: A Loveswept Classic Romance

by Donna Kauffman

  Seb swept his gaze over the misty water, watching the boats pitch and roll through the haze as the tide slowly went out. Then he turned toward the town. The old-fashioned gas lamps that stayed on all night were still lit, but the fog was thick and he could barely make out the Victorian houses lining Harbor Street. Star Harbor looked exactly the same as it did when he’d left it so many years ago.

  God, being here brought back so many memories. Like the time he and his brothers had rigged those fireworks to go off seconds before the annual summer small craft regatta started. It had taken the organizers at least an hour to get everything back on track. Or the time they all ditched school to head to Providence for Oktoberfest. Their mother had been furious. A smile crept onto his face. For a few moments, he could almost forget his weariness and the mountain of work waiting for him back in New York—planning his fall menu, brainstorming for his television show, and figuring out where he was going to open his new restaurant. He thought he might have settled on Boston, but he couldn’t be sure until he found the right venue. Crap, he’d better be sure. He’d already spent too much time trying to make that decision.

  Seb sighed. He used to love being a renowned chef, and had thrived on the sheer volume of work. But lately, it had started to seem like a slog. Had he lost his passion or was he just exhausted?

  Damn. He had to stop stressing so that he could enjoy the weekend, but that probably wasn’t going to happen. He had only himself to blame. His plan was to stay in Star Harbor for a full week, but it wasn’t going to be much of a vacation. He would need to spend at least part of the time working on his upcoming projects. Later on in the morning, he was scheduled to scout out spaces in Boston for his new restaurant. His brothers weren’t too happy about it—their tradition was to spend the weekend together, after all—but it was rare that he ever got time away from his restaurant, Helena. Suddenly, the fact that he was tired, damp, cold, and seriously decaffeinated started to wear on him. He needed that coffee, bad.

  “So how’s the writing going, Theo?” he asked, trying to think about something else.

  Theo set his book down. “Not as well as I’d like,” he admitted. “I’m having trouble getting started on my next project.”

  “Lower your standards,” Cole joked.

  “Never.” Theo shook his head. “I just wish I could find some real inspiration.”

  “It’s everywhere, all around you,” Val said sagely. He was right. Seb himself could draw inspiration for one of his entrées from anything—a smell, a color, or even an interesting texture. Val didn’t talk much. Never had. But when he said something, it was worth it to listen. Val had been his rock—everyone’s rock, really—since their father had died. And after their mother had passed away twelve years ago, taken from them by a stroke, Val was the closest thing they had to a parent.

  He looked at his oldest brother. Calm. Resolute. His face bracketed by a square jaw and steely blue eyes. Their mother’s eyes. He’d trust Val with anything. He trusted Theo and Cole, too, of course, but Val was the most solid of them all. The younger Grayson boys had gone wild when their dad had died. But somehow, despite the fact that he was only a few years older than Cole, Val had brought them back to Earth. Grounded them. Without him, they would have stayed adrift. Val hadn’t supported most of their rowdy adventures, but he had always stepped in to keep things under control. It was Val who’d suggested Seb travel to pursue his passion. He had taken that advice, and now he was at the top of his culinary game.

  “Maybe you should come back to Star Harbor for a while. Get some good ideas for your new book,” Cole suggested.

  “Maybe,” Theo responded ambiguously and went back to reading. Though not as soft-spoken as Val, Theo was quieter than either Cole or himself. They’d called him “the Professor” growing up because he’d always had his nose in a book or his pen to paper, meticulously plotting their escapades. Cole had been their logistics guy, so it had come as no surprise to anyone when he joined the military. And Seb? He’d been the charmer, able to sweet-talk anyone into anything. Just like their father.

  Seb had loved his mom, but like most boys, he’d worshipped his dad—his slow but easy smile. The way the corners of his eyes would crinkle up when he found something funny. The old pirate stories he used to tell the boys before bedtime. Seb thought about him every day. It was hard not to. Every time he opened his mouth or looked at himself in a mirror he was reminded of his father. But most of all, he missed his dad’s laughter echoing off the sides of his fishing boat as he hauled in the day’s catch.

  “Hey, you guys talk to James Bishop lately?” Seb asked, trying to snap himself out of his funk. Jimmy had been a part of their high school crowd and Seb felt a brief twinge of regret that he hadn’t kept in better touch.

  “I haven’t talked to Jimmy in years,” Theo said as he broke down his rod and reel.

  Val nodded. “Yep. Owns his own tour boat and sailing company now. He’s getting married in a few weeks. Asked me and Cole to be in his wedding party.”

  “Really?” Seb couldn’t imagine Jimmy—a huge bear of a man with an outsized voice and a nose for trouble—tying the knot.

  “To Emma Newbridge, Kate Everhart’s niece,” Cole said, as if he were reading Seb’s mind. “Emma’s been helping run the Star Harbor Inn since Kate was diagnosed with cancer a few months ago. Jimmy’s a changed man. Or so he says.” Cole chuckled as he reeled in his line and started packing up his gear.

  “I’ve met Emma,” Seb said. “Can’t imagine how Jimmy snagged someone so … so …”

  “Sweet?” Theo interjected.

  “Yeah.” Emma was appealing and engaging, the exact opposite of Jimmy. Or at least how Jimmy used to be.

  “Well, you can ask him yourself. He’s at the Rusty Nail most nights after work,” Val said. “We can join him later for a beer.”

  “Beer sounds good,” Seb said, reminded of his aching body, “but coffee sounds better. Any idea where I can grab a decent cup of joe around here?”

  Val smiled and closed his tackle box. “I know just the place.”

  Read on for an excerpt from Karen Leabo’s

  Callie’s Cowboy

  PROLOGUE

  On a warm April day in Destiny, Texas, the high-school spring carnival was in full swing. The scent of popcorn mingled with that of cotton candy, and the gymnasium echoed with whoops of conquest from the many games and the excited laughter of children.

  Seventeen-year-old Callie Calloway couldn’t enjoy any of it. Her heart was breaking into pieces.

  “I’m sorry that’s the way you feel, Callie,” Sam said, his usual sunny smile absent. “But Uncle Ned needs me. He’s in bad health, the spring calving hasn’t gone well, and … we’re talking about my whole future here. You understand that, don’t you?”

  Callie nodded, swallowing back the tears. For as long as she’d known Sam Sanger, he’d taken care of his family. He’d helped his great-uncle on a ranch in Nevada every summer and had given most of his salary to his parents to add to the meager income they earned from their own struggling farm. It had all seemed so noble to Callie, and that’s one of the reasons she’d fallen in love with him.

  He loved her, too, she knew. But just once, she wanted to come first. Was that too much to ask?

  Apparently it was. Sam had moved heaven and earth to finish his high-school credits a month early so he’d be free to leave for Nevada for the summer. And now he’d just informed her that he was leaving before the senior prom.

  “I’ll understand if you want to go with another guy to the prom,” he said. “But do we have to break up? I mean, aren’t you overreacting?”

  Callie shook her head. “I know you. You’re going to stay up in Nevada for good this time. We might as well face that fact and go on.”

  “I’ll be back,” he said. “I’m learning all about ranching, and I’ll come back and build up Mama and Daddy’s farm, just like I always said I would. You wait, it’ll be the prettiest—”

  C
allie covered her ears. “Please. Just go, Sam. I don’t want to hear it anymore.”

  Sam shoved his thumbs into his jeans pockets. “Okay, Callie,” he said, a little defiantly. “I’ll go. But we’re not through. Far from it.”

  He swaggered away, and Callie sniffed back her tears. She’d played her trump card, and it hadn’t been enough. At least she knew where she fell on Sam’s list of priorities.

  She needed a distraction, something to do that would make her forget all about Sam. Her tear-blurry vision settled on a booth in the corner swathed in glittery red silk. Where had that come from?

  The small booth featured a gold-lettered sign that read THEODORA, FORTUNE-TELLER.

  Callie frowned and consulted her clipboard. There was no fortune-teller, Theodora or otherwise, on her list of attractions sanctioned by the carnival committee, and no one had told her about any last-minute additions.

  “I’ll get to the bottom of this,” Callie murmured. A problem to solve would take her mind off Sam’s desertion. She shoved a strand of her long dark hair behind her ear and pushed her glasses higher up on the bridge of her nose, ready for battle.

  Still, even wearing her official-looking Carnival Committee/Student Division ID badge, she didn’t want to confront Theodora alone. She needed reinforcements. She scanned the crowd, searching for her two fellow committee members.

  Lana wasn’t hard to find. All Callie had to do was look for the biggest crowd of boys, and Lana Walsh would be in the center. It would have been easy to feel jealous of the pretty blonde, except that her charm wasn’t forced or calculated; it came naturally. She was a hard worker, too, when properly motivated.

  Callie elbowed her way through the appreciative, hormone-driven males who were crowding around the table where Lana was selling tickets.

  Lana looked up and smiled. “Oh, hi, Callie. Ticket sales are booming.”

  Exactly why Callie had put Lana in charge of tickets. She’d known that all the boys, at least, would buy handfuls from her.

  “Mrs. Dingmeir can handle sales for a while,” Callie said. “We have some official business to take care of.”

  One of the boys watching the exchange, a big, strapping football player named Bart Gaston, put his hand on top of Callie’s head and exerted just enough backward pressure that she was forced to look up at him. “What kind of official business?”

  Supremely annoyed, she ducked out of his grasp. “Nothing that concerns you, lunkhead.” She turned her attention back to Lana. “Coming?”

  “Sure.” Lana smiled apologetically, then deftly maneuvered the crowd of boys to Mrs. Dingmeir’s table.

  “You shouldn’t be so rude to Bart,” Lana whispered as she and Callie left the group. “I think he’s going to ask me to the prom. Has Sam asked you yet?”

  The question made Callie’s heart clench painfully. “Sam and I won’t be going to the prom.” Before Lana could interrogate her, she changed the subject. “Where’s Millicent?” Millicent Whitney was the third on their student carnival committee.

  “She’s helping out with the face painting, remember? Honestly, speaking of not having a date for the prom … I mean, Millicent’s not as plain as she thinks she is. If she would only try to meet some boys …”

  “I know. But she’s so darn shy.”

  “She’s going to end up alone and lonely,” Lana said sadly. “And that’s really a shame. She’s smart and nice, and she loves kids.”

  That much was evident. As the two girls approached the face-painting booth they found Millicent busily painting a unicorn onto a little girl’s cheek. The child, about four, sat still as a stone, enthralled by the artist’s soft voice as Millicent told her a story. She finished up just as she saw Callie and Lana approaching.

  “Hi, how’s it going?” Millicent lifted the child off the table where she’d been sitting and put her on the ground, sending her off to her father with a pat on the head.

  “Fine with me,” Lana said, “but Callie says we have official business to take care of.”

  Millicent looked to Callie for more of an explanation.

  Callie turned and pointed to the silk-swathed booth. “Did y’all notice that?”

  “The fortune-teller?” Millicent said. “What about her?”

  “She’s not on the list. Where’d she come from?”

  The two other girls shrugged. “Does it matter?” Millicent asked.

  “Of course it matters. She might have sneaked in here under false pretenses. She might be taking cash under the table.”

  “Callie, you’re so suspicious,” Lana admonished gently. “Probably Mr. Stipley simply forgot to tell us about her.” Mr. Stipley was the principal of Destiny High School, and the carnival was his baby.

  “I want to find out for sure,” Callie said. “And I want you both to come with me.”

  Lana laughed. “All right. But if we find out she’s legit, we all have to have our fortunes told. Agreed?”

  The other two girls nodded reluctantly.

  As they approached Theodora’s booth Callie thought it odd that the fortune-teller had no takers. The carnival was crowded, and almost every attraction had a line in front of it. But Theodora, a darkly exotic woman dressed in a gypsy costume, sat behind a silk-draped table with a crystal ball in front of her, as if she’d been waiting just for these three customers.

  Her wide, red-painted mouth spread into a smile. “Well, now, what do we have here? Did you come to find out which boy will ask you to the prom?”

  Callie got a wiggly sensation down her spine. How odd that she and Lana had recently been discussing that very thing. “Actually, Miss, uh, Ms. Theodora, this is an official visit. I’m head of the Carnival Committee/Student Division, and these are my committee members.” She consulted her clipboard, trying to look serious and severe. “You aren’t on my list.”

  “My, aren’t you the official one,” Theodora said, still smiling. In an aside to the other two girls, she added, “I’ll bet nothing gets by her, eh? She probably dots all her i’s and crosses the t’s.”

  Millicent covered her mouth to disguise her smile, and Lana laughed out loud, earning a scowl from Callie.

  “You’re the skeptical type,” Theodora continued, looking at Callie. “You love to ask questions and you can’t stand an unsolved mystery. You would make a very good newspaper reporter.”

  “H-how did you know that?” Callie asked. She’d already been accepted into the journalism program at Stockton University, the college around which the town of Destiny, Texas, had grown.

  “I know all kinds of things,” Theodora said mysteriously. “Would you like to hear more?”

  “I’d like to hear who gave you permission to set up here,” Callie persisted. “You’re not on my—”

  “Chill out, Callie,” Lana said. “I’d like to hear more. Can you tell me who I’ll go to the prom with?”

  Theodora consulted her crystal ball, and Callie observed, fascinated despite herself. Out of habit, she pulled a small pad and pen from the back pocket of her jeans and began taking notes. She was always on the lookout for a good story for the school paper.

  “I see you going to the prom with a football player,” Theodora said.

  Big stretch, Callie thought uncharitably. Someone with Lana’s looks would naturally snag a football player.

  Theodora looked up. “You have many talents, you know,” she said. “I see you surrounded by flowers.”

  Lana giggled. “I hope that means Bart will bring me a big ol’ corsage for the dance. Now, what about Millicent?” She dragged her friend forward. “Who’s she gonna go with?”

  Millicent sighed. “I don’t need a fortune-teller to give me that answer. I won’t be going.”

  Theodora peered into the ball. “I see you painting. You have such talent!”

  Another big stretch, Callie thought. Millicent had paint smears all over her hands.

  “I’ll probably be painting the prom decorations,” Millicent said glumly.

 
“Oh, who cares about this silly prom business,” Lana interrupted. “We want to know who we’re going to marry. Right?” She looked to the other two girls for confirmation.

  “Gee, I’m not sure I want to know.…” Millicent said, but Theodora was already staring into her crystal ball.

  The gypsy was silent a long time while the girls collectively held their breath. Then, unexpectedly, she looked up and began to recite a poem:

  One will tarry, losing her chance at love;

  The next will marry, but her spouse will rove;

  A third will bury her man in a hickory grove;

  But all will find marriage a treasure trove,

  With a little help from above

  Callie shivered, even though she knew this was all a bunch of silliness. She’d always harbored a secret worry that she and Sam would marry and that he would die, leaving her a widow. If the brutal ranch work didn’t kill him, his rodeo bull riding would.

  “The poem’s nice, but it’s not very helpful,” Lana pointed out. “I want a name. How will I know my future husband when I meet him?”

  Theodora smiled indulgently. “Everyone who has her fortune told by Theodora gets a souvenir. These mementos will help you recognize the man who will make you happy.” She reached under the table and pulled out a cardboard box that appeared to be filled with gum-machine toys and other worthless stuff. She rummaged around in it for a moment, then held out her hand toward Callie.

  Callie couldn’t contain her curiosity. She accepted Theodora’s gift. It was a plastic key chain in the shape of a cowboy boot.

  Her skin broke out in goose bumps. How could the fortune-teller know about Sam? “I’m not marrying anyone who wears cowboy boots,” she said firmly. Theodora merely gave her a knowing smile.

  Lana frowned, obviously puzzled, at her gift from. Theodora. It was a toy policeman’s badge made of tin.

  Theodora had to search a bit longer for something to give Millicent. She finally came up with a tiny brown glass bottle, the kind used for medicine a hundred years ago.